That's a start
by Kyravalon
Summary: This started as a series of SwanQueen drabbles, but became a story (sort of) at some point. Just some ideas about how Emma and Regina could begin bonding after the events of 4x05. I will mostly ignore the current state of perpetual crisis that shakes Storybrook in favour of more quotidianity. I will use both Regina's and Emma's alternate POV.
1. Chapter 1

"You have already inspected the whole thing inch by inch at least twice by now. So… what's your verdict?"

"If you must know, I guess it looks sanitized enough for preventing its inhabitants to contract a lethal illness."

"Am I too hopeful if I assume you mean Henry will be safe coming around here?"

"I don't see the point in fighting the inevitable. Besides, he seems to have survived your previous surveillance in the past rather successfully… So, yes, I think our son's safety will be guaranteed."

From her position on top of the counter, Emma grins to me in what I'm sure is an attempt at mockery. "It is so very magnanimous of you to imply that my humble abode meets your standards, Your Majesty." She says, and fakes a curtsey as graciously as a potato while nearly stomping to the floor in the process.

I must admit I'm fairly impressed. Not that Emma's fondness for rustic décor (which she has undoubtedly taken after her mother) would ever come near to my idea of good taste, but somehow she has managed to give the apartment a clear personal imprint in merely three days since she moved in and make it look comfortable and agreeable enough. Cozy, as she and Henry would say.

"Let me play the attentive host and get you some snack or something." Emma jumps to the ground and walks towards the cupboard. "What would it be? Salty peanuts? Cornflakes? Pickles?"

"I certainly hope that you take care of stocking healthy nourishment for Henry's visits…"

"Nuts are healthy!" She is shooting me an indignant look. Not that I'm fooled, I have checked and verify the fridge is packed with fresh vegetables and eggs. Henry told me they are venturing with Spanish tortilla and Greek salad tonight. "A drink, then?" She offers. "Beer? Tap water?"

She emerges from the kitchen with two glasses and a bottle of my own homemade cider, and guides the way to the living room, placing the glasses over the low wooden table Marco has crafted for her as a flat-warming gift. I take a sit beside it and appreciate the comfort of the sofa as well as the sight of the languid twilight through the window.

"This must be bright during the day." I comment.

"Oh, it is." She nods, accommodating herself beside me. "Here you are. Cheers."

I take my glass of cider and crook my head a little. "What are we toasting to?"

"I dunno… To emancipation at mid-thirties?" She suggests.

"You are not even 33 yet, dear." I observe.

"You know what I mean. Neither had I been under my parents' roof until very recently, anyway." She stops and looks at me for a moment. I think I know what she's trying to tell me: this was not a veiled accusation. "But it still feels as if I've been stuck in the loft with them for ages." Her laugh vibrates and she shakes her head in amusement. "Seriously, I really needed my own place."

"Very well, then. To finding our own places." I raise my glass and Emma carefully collides hers with it.

"Um! Very tasty, Regina! Thank you for the cider."

"You are welcome." I smile. I know it tastes delicious. I cannot help the hint of pride at the compliment, though.

"And thank you for helping me with the move."

I don't know what she's talking about. I only offered to help her with her packing at Snow's place. It hardly took us one morning to get everything she owned stuffed in a pair of trunks. And it's not like my time is consumed by city hall duties anymore, so the whole task was more sort of a very needed distraction.

The sun is visible now from where I sit, a pulsing red globe sinking into the dark clouds over the horizon.

"I know you are used to more luxurious accommodations" Emma's hair is glowing rabidly in the last strays of the day, "but you could also crash in whenever Henry is around, you know?"

I shut my eyes slightly, momentarily blinded by the gold and the red and the purple swirl. "I suppose I could." The way Emma smiles I know that my attempt at a nonchalant statement has failed.

I'm probably smiling back, so I rush to take another sip of cider, which falls through my throat and runs warm and sweet and a little wild towards my stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

"Emma, I beg you, stop punishing my fryer. Whatever outrage you may think it inflicted you, I'm sure it doesn't deserve that kind of torture."

I raise my eyes from my work in progress to see a crossed-armed Regina frowning at me from the kitchen threshold. She has changed into her pyjamas and removed her makeup. I think she's quite pretty like this. More than usual, I mean.

"Hey! I'm trying to fix it!" I huff indignantly to get some locks of hair out of my face. Regina simply raises an eyebrow and manages to look really, really skeptical.

"I don't know about your intentions, but if I am to rely on your precedent attempts at basic repairing, I'm saying this is it for Mrs. Hottie."

"Mrs. Hottie? You name your home appliances?"

"I was a fancy of Henry's." She approaches me and eyes the current mess of plastic and metal over her shoulder. "When he was 6, he seemed to think that any electric equipment was a sentient being. You should have seen him thanking the microwave before retrieving his food from it."

"Really? That's very considerate of him." I forget to mess up with the fryer for a second while I picture the scene in my head.

"He grew tired of it rather soon, though. But I enjoyed mortifying him by using the names he had come up with, so some of them finally stuck."

A loud crack arising from the dismembered wreck in my hands startles us.

"Damn it!" I cry.

"It's all right, Emma. Just let it be."

"No! I will fix Mrs. Hottie even if it is the last thing I do!" I point the screwdriver at Regina, daring her to contradict me.

"Then I surely hope that this is actually the last time you try to fix anything in this house." She says, making her way towards the door. "What was wrong with it in the first place, anyway?"

"The warning light wouldn't work." I inform, though she totally should be aware by now, being the diligent woman she is and all. "It has been like this for ages and no one except me seemed to care at all about it. How are you supposed to know when the frying is done?" She doesn't seem to be gathering the relevance of the matter. "I just had to fix it." I declare.

"Of course you had." She sighs. "But let me tell you something: everyone would be better off if you restricted your repairing skills to the equipment in your apartment. That way, you would still be able to work your frustration issues with this awkward therapy of yours while still preserving the appliances in this house, so I could carry on feeding the three of us." She clasps her hands neatly in front of her and bows her head towards me, as if she was talking to somebody particularly dense. "As for now, you may want to consider joining us to watch the painfully absurd fiction that our son has surely decided to grace us with. That is, if you manage to extract yourself from the devilish device that seems to have aggravated you so." She spins on her heels, head upright, ever the embodied elegance, and leaves the kitchen with her gown floating behind her.

I look hopelessly at the corpse of the fryer for a few moments before deciding to give up and placing it in the box I have to carry to the dump, alongside the beater and the sandwich maker.

Rest in peace, Mrs. Hottie.

I untie my hair and massage my scalp in my way to the living room, then take a messy lock from my eyes to better appreciate the sight in front of me.

Henry and Regina are standing side by side, faces hyper concentrated, legs slightly ajar and arms describing perfectly synchronized movements. Both of them are barefoot. This is the detail that overloads me with cuteness. I'm sure the smile in my face is pretty dumb right now.

"Hey, Ma! Check this out." Henry addresses me without shifting his position. "I'm teaching Mom some tai chi." Regina's lips quiver a little in the corners and her eyes shift briefly to meet mine, but she continues imitating Henry's movements. "She's pretty good at it." Henry compliments.

It figures. They're offering a very nice performance of "Parting the Wild Horse's Mane".

"Hum… very impressive, kid." I say. Regina shouldn't be lifting her left arm so high, though, so I tell her and mend her position with a light touch. Very well, now that's a perfect move. Very beautiful, indeed. And quite hypnotic. I'm slightly disappointed when they stop and suggest starting watching the film. Henry has picked another X-Men movie. I think this is the one with Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique.

I check the time in my cell phone and hesitate before opting for shutting up and joining them in the sofa. I lean back in the corner so I can steal occasional glances at them, just for the sake of delighting myself in how amazingly at ease they look. By the time Magneto is barricading the White House with the Kennedy Memorial Stadium I'm feeling rather relaxed too. Of course, that's the moment my cell phone starts to vibrate annoyingly. I jump from the sofa and exit the room to take the call.

Back to the living room, I shift my weight from foot to foot uncomfortably and begin: "Er… guys… I'm sorry but I can't stay 'til the end…"

Henry and Regina look backwards from the sofa. "What's up?" Henry asks, pulsing the pause button.

"I had just… agreed on going somewhere tonight. And I just… received the call, so…"

"Oh, you mean with Killian?" Henry says, looking so very not understanding at all. "Why didn't you say anything during dinner? We could've changed the day for the movie."

Regina has simply turned again to face the TV, but from here I can see that her expression has hardened. I can't tell what she's thinking, which is weird and probably a bad sign. I can't remember now why I haven't told them about this before. This was the exact situation I wanted to avoid.

"I'm sorry, kid. You're right. I just forgot." I look sympathetically at him. I really hate disappointing him. "You're not mad, right? You're still up for tomorrow?"

"Of course, Ma." He says, but I'm painfully aware that he isn't smiling. "Have fun. See you tomorrow." He loosens his arm, so I approach and hug him good bye. I guess he isn't very pissed off, then.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." I say back, and I'm totally implying that I hope to see Regina tomorrow too, but she looks overly interested in the frozen image of Magneto and somehow I don't dare to speak directly at her right now.

I walk towards the entrance and feel conscious of how the warmth abandons my body while I open the door and cold gust of wind receives me.


	3. Chapter 3

"Apart from the raise in direct costs, we would be facing huge resistance. I'm quite shocked, but according to the surveys, most of the town doesn't care about long-term benefits or environmental aspects if it means that they won't be allowed to get rid of their garbage whenever they want."

I have to make an effort to focus on Snow's dissertation on the pros and cons of implementing a door-to-door system for the urban waste management program, because my eyes keep diverting towards the scandalous explosion of color on the wall. It doesn't matter how many times I happen to be called onto mayoral assistance and have to meet Snow White in my former office, the painting always manages to strike me in awe. Horrified awe.

"These people, I swear." She grumbles. "They make it so hard to try and organize things for the best." Snow sounds as if she was at the very limits of her infamous candor. The shrieking human being in her arms isn't probably helping. She holds her baby tighter and shakes her legs to soothe him, while scattering the sheets on the desk. "See? Just 7 per cent of the respondents are in favor of the door-to-door. 7 per cent! And I'm not even going into how many actually bothered to answer the survey!" She agitates a sheet of paper directly in front of my face, making it certainly hard for me to read it.

"Very well, dear, I get your point." I hurry to take the paper from her hands and placate the frenzy movement. I place her arm back in her chair and press it firmly in the hope that it contributes to calm her down.

She sighs heavily and lies backwards on her seat, looking defeated. "How did you manage?" She mutters beneath the cries emanating from her son.

I simply shrug and proceed with the analysis of the current mayoral crisis. "Listen, if you want my advice on this, I'm inclined to consider postponing the implementation of the system."

"What?! And let them win? They're not being reasonable at all. I don't want to give up that easily. There must be a way to make them see how selfish and ridiculous they're being!" Of course Snow White would be the one to force everyone into the right path.

"All right, then. Explain to them for the millionth time the wonders of your measure and implement it right away. I'm sure they'll come to their senses this time and that they won't try to sabotage the initiative and that the streets won't be filled with wastes in a few days." She looks so close to tears that I'm truly afraid that I might be having to comfort a weeping Snow White in any second. The perspective is sending alarming chills through my spine, so I try to backpedal and offer a more optimistic viewpoint. "You're not looking at the whole picture, that's all I'm saying. In order to get an initiative from the City Hall break the reticence, you have to make the reluctant population believe that they came up with the idea themselves." I'm keeping my talk as animated as possible so that hopefully she gets distracted from her state of distress. "Perhaps you could constitute a commission representing the various neighborhoods. Make the delegates debate about any irrelevant issue that you can think of and take care of including some topics regarding the waste management. Present them with all the facts and wait for them to reach the inevitable conclusions. It might take a while, but maybe they will just demand you to go for something even more revolutionary than the door-to-door waste collection."

I don't even know what I'm saying, but Snow has closed her eyes and is breathing regularly, so I guess I must have sounded coherent enough. "And, in any case, it's important that you learn how to pick your battles." I add cautiously.

She opens her eyes and looks at me beatifically. "You were in the school play yesterday, right?" One would think that she's trying to initiate some sort of chit talk with the purpose of showing some polite concern for my life, but something tells me this isn't it.

"Yes, we were." I reply.

She leans forward and lowers her voice, as if we were being eavesdropped by the hideous bluebird. "How did you find Emma? Did she have a nice time?" Not at all about me, indeed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just want to know your opinion. Did she look happy?" She insists. "She usually feels happy when she's around Henry."

"Well, yes… I guess she appeared to be just fine." I have the feeling I might know exactly where all this is coming from. Could it be that Snow White has finally gained some insight on the true nature of her daughter's psyche?

Snow nods and reclines on the chair again. "Sorry, Regina. I'm glad to hear that." She averts her gaze as she changes the position of the baby in her arms. "It's just that I worry, sometimes." Oh, god, she's looking overwhelmed again. I'm doing my best to offer my least encouraging pose so that she doesn't assume that I'm comfortable with the intimate nature that our conversation has taken. "I worry that she's trying too hard." Unsuccessfully, it seems. "That she thinks she has to save us all, every time, that she has to make these sacrifices, to be this admirable hero, so that she deserves…" The tears begin to run copiously through her face and I begin panicking. Slightly. "I've never wanted to look. To really look. She's strong and beautiful and utterly wonderful. And when she said she was lost and helpless, I heard but never really listened. And then I saw her in that video, and she was… my baby." Snow is weeping openly now and is rocking her son in a way that makes me think she's trying to convey all the care meant for Emma through this gesture.

I search in vain for something remotely appropriate to say. I don't think she's expecting me to say or do anything, anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter.

She raises her head and composes a spiteful expression. "I hate you for dooming us to this pain. I…" Her words break in a violent sob. "I hate you… so much."

Oh, Snow White. At last.

I wake up and reach to her. She grabs my collar with her free hand and buries her head there. I take special care to leave enough space for the baby to breathe while holding the mother tightly at the same time. Deep down, I remember this is the woman towards whom I directed all my rage for the most part of my life and for whom I cursed an entire kingdom. But right now all I can see is just that: a mother. A mother in great pain. And I don't seem capable of reveling in her suffering anymore.

"How could we do this to her? To our beautiful daughter? How could we make her think that she wasn't enough?" She looks at me, so helplessly. "And how can I make her see that see is everything, too? She deserves everything." She whispers with a fierce glow in her stare.

"She does." I agree. "She deserves everything." I continue to hold Snow White and I'm not even surprised that I said it with all honesty.

Emma Swan, that poor misfit toy, deserves to be loved for everything that she truly is.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Note**__: Sudden rating upgrade because… well, sex. I guess I should warn that this chapter is NOT about SwanQueen sex, though. But please, bear with me. (Oh, by the way, I may or may not have inserted a Buffyquote here.)_

It's there. I feel it right there, behind my eyes. Nearer… Ah. Yes. Almost, almost done.

The sweat. And the smell. And his arm holding and grabbing and I just feel the rush and the sting of his bear on that spot in my neck and electricity waves and my skin's so fresh, so ready and I hear him say I love you I love you so from behind while pushing and the push feels harsh and great but of course he won't be the first to go because he cares so much for my own pleasure…

Oh. I lost it. Damn. The fog in my mind is dissipating and suddenly I'm aware of my surroundings. And everything is hard and bright and violently flat… He'll notice and he'll look concerned and say to me love what's wrong and try to make it better. And I really need this deliverance. I was so close. So I focus. I display pictures on the screen of my shut eyes. The kinkiest I can think of, the ones that I like to go to whenever I am for a quick release time on my own.

Oh, yes. I'm back there and I will be over the edge soon and just, just fine and…

The door. The hallway door just opened and closed. Footsteps approaching.

"Ma?"

My son.

"Ma? Are you here?"

I rush and pretty much creep all over my bedroom floor in the haste for retrieving my clothes. I struggle with my yoga pants while Killian just lies with his mutilated arm over his head. I try to send him a stern look so that he gets dressed too but decide that it's better to just get out there.

"Henry!" I close the door behind him and stare at an empty living room.

My son's head emerges from his bedroom doorframe. "Hey, Ma! I thought you weren't home." I smile and tidy my hair. And smile again. "I left my pendrive here and I need it for today's exposition in class." He wields the thing and puts it in his back pocket. "Are you okay?"

I approach him and hug him tight, smelling his hair. I'm suddenly concerned that I'm touching my son with sex sweat on me. "Of course, kid. I'm happy to see you!" I lean backwards and hold his shoulders, almost in line with mine now. My sweet, all grown-up kid. "Did you have any breakfast?" I asked while I head towards the kitchen. "I was gonna make some for me right now."

"I did, yep." He rubs his nape and leans on the counter. "You know my Mom. Wouldn't let me out of the house without my super vitaminated daily dose." I nod knowingly, picturing a die-hard Regina in my mind as I pour some coffee in the filter, and feel smile spreading across my face. "But I could do with some of these." He extends his hand towards the box of pastries Killian brought in before, opens it and looks avidly at its contents.

I finish winding the coffee maker and place it on the stove. "Remember to chew." I say, once I have turned around to face him. He just gulps and grins happily and then proceeds to devour another pastry. "I take it that you're not getting specially nervous about your grand speech at Lit class."

"Hum." Gulp. "I feel pretty confident that I master the thing just all right." Gulp.

"Oh, I hear you. By the way, it takes some nerve to digress about the influence of European folklore on American modern short narrative in a classroom full of fairytale characters."

"They're gonna love it."

"Those narcissistic brats."

We stare at each other and cackle. Henry spits half of the content of his mouth all over the place. Oh, jeez. It's great that we can get all goofy about our unsettling living circumstances.

"Am I missing the fun?"

I put my head out of and see Killian coming by. Fully dressed, thank god.

Henry's face has gone all serious and grave. He reaches for a napkin and starts cleaning the counter looking very uncomfortable. "Sorry." He mutters. "I should have rung before stepping in… I didn't realize…"

"Don't, mate. This is your place. Why shouldn't you be free to come in at any time?" Killian is attaching his hook to the prosthesis with a look in his face that's leaving no room to wonder what he was doing -with me- when Henry exerted said freedom minutes before.

"Anyway, I should get going." Henry propels himself off the counter and heads to the hallway. I just go after him and hold the door open once he has stepped out. I'm such a pathetic mother that I can't find anything to sooth the uneasiness that I myself have force upon my kid. So I just offer him another one of my stupid, stupid smiles. He's so gracious to smile back at me. "See you later, Ma." He turns around and begins stomping down the stairs. He stops for a moment and looks back and says: "I love you!" So brightly. Then disappears.

I linger for a moment staring at the empty corridor before closing the door. I feel a knot swirling in my chest.

And then there's a hand caressing me. An arm embracing me from behind. A mouth running through my jaw.

"Shall we resume our whereabouts, love?"

I swift and my face is so near his. So near. I smell his words. "The mood got kinda ruined." I say with a grin, leaning on his shoulder. And then retracting. "You should have let me talk to him."

He frowns. "I just told him not to be ashamed of using his keys to enter his own home."

"I know. But it should have been me the one to say it." I take a step away from him and add: "I'm the parent."

I feel guilty straightway. I see I've hurt him. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to make it clear. That I'm his mother. That I can be a mother.

I disentangle from him with a sigh. The coffee is boiling on the stove. It's starting to smell burned. I kiss his lips and go to switch the fire off. "I have to get ready to work." I say, making my way towards the bedroom.

Before I reach the wardrobe, I'm trapped once more. "Let me bring the proper mood back." He whispers and kisses me and keeps caressing my side and holding my waist with such need. Because he wants me. He wants me so. And I can tell he is so full of desire for me he would do anything.

So I let him want me. I let him love me.

The knot gets tighter and crawls up my throat and strangles me. It's good we're not face to face. My tears tickle. And my mind blows up with this sole idea. I crave. I crave.

I crave for love.


	5. Chapter 5

Henry is being particularly unnerving today, and the crump in my neck doesn't help to sooth my current irritability.

"Henry, I beg you. Enough. You're pushing it way too far." I avoid looking at him while I retrieve the eggs from the fridge and bring them back to the counter.

"That's the whole point of it. I'm demolishing your defenses with my insistence." He accompanies his words with a heavy gust of lashes and a pouting gesture. Then he proceeds to plug the beater in (the brand new one that we have very specifically told Emma to stay away from) before handing it to me. I press ON and hope the noise contributes to conceal my son's pleading. To no avail.

"Oh, Henry! You ruined my mayonnaise!" I look at the separated sauce and exhale dramatically.

"How? I didn't touch it!"

"A balanced emotional state is indispensable when whipping this kind of delicate sauces. And you're certainly bringing me over the edge with your childish arguments."

"That's so unfair! You're the one being childish. You won't even listen to me!" Henry grumbles and stomps cross-armed towards a seat, but he seems to realize that this won't do anything to favor his crusade, so he regains some composure before adding. "I mean, this would totally teach me to be responsible and you… Hey, Emma! Great. Tell her I'm right."

"Huh?" We have been clearly too engaged in our respective bitterness to notice the entrance door opening. Emma looks suspiciously at both of us while she shakes off her jacket and places it in the nearest chair. "Good evening to you too." I open my mouth to chastise her, but before I can say a word she takes it back and hurries to the hall wardrobe. "Ok" she says, reentering the kitchen. "What's with you two?" She approaches me and smiles. "Yay! Mayonnaise!"

"Your son ruined it." I mutter dryly.

Henry sighs as if he was gathering infinite patience. "My mum's being her stubborn self and won't hear about my sensible proposals to improve my education and the family bonding. And plus" he adds, pointing his index finger at me "you could use some action in your life since… you know… you don't work or anything. Don't you see? I'm thinking of all of us here!"

I'm beginning to consider pouring the ruined content of the bowl over his head when a hand grabs mine and frees it from the beater. "Gimme this. I'll try it."

I somehow doubt that Emma Swan of all people has mastered the art of cooking well enough to emulsify mayonnaise, but I am thankful for the break she provides, so I lean on the table and watch her take a clean jar from the cupboard and I rub my neck while carefully keeping my back to my annoying son.

"Why don't you stick to that routine of walking the shelter dogs with Emma once in a while? That sounds perfectly reasonable to me." I offer in the hopes of giving some closure to this charade.

My words are met solely with the sound of Emma cracking the eggs and adding them to the jar, as Henry doesn't answer back, so I take a look at him. He's giving me his I-won't-even-bother-to-point-out-the-absurdity-of-your-statement look.

"Oh, I see what this is!" Emma is pouring olive oil with milimetric care. "Yeah, good luck with that, kid."

"Thank you so much for your help. Really." Henry shakes his head in frustration, as if he couldn't believe that the backup never came.

"Stop being such a pain and set the table. This is nearly done." With that, Emma starts the beater (I definitely have to take the device from her once she's done with it) and holds a tight grip on it for a while before moving it slightly upwards and downwards. I knew it. She doesn't master the technique.

"You're not supposed to move…"

"Shhh… I have it." She says and pulls the beater out of the jar. White creamy sauce is dripping thickly from it. She runs her finger through it and puts it in her mouth. "Ooooh, yes!" She has her eyes closed and her face is carrying a way too satisfied smirk.

* * *

><p>I place my fork on the plate and take a sip of wine. The crump has made its way towards my forefront and I feel slightly nauseous. I massage my temples while concentrating in chasing the pain away.<p>

"Are you, ok, Mom?"

I smile at my son for the first time in the evening. He's such an adorable boy when he's not being insufferable. "Yes, dear. It's only this crump in my neck… It's getting worse."

"Come, let me help!" He lets Emma in charge of the washing up, gets behind my chair and starts massaging my neck. I have to press my teeth together to prevent myself from whimpering, until I consider that I can put an end to the torture without hurting his feelings.

"Thank you, dear." I pat his hands gently, hoping he has finished feeling solicitous. "That certainly helped."

"It did?" He moves around to face me. "See what a lovely son I am?"

"What!?" I frown in disbelief. "Not again, Henry."

"Very well. I see you're being impossible today." He raises his hands as if he was being forced to give up his honorable cause and heads the staircase. "I'll be upstairs doing my homework."

"Excuse me!?" I yell at him. He decides to ignore me and stomps his way towards his bedroom. He doesn't forget to close his door audibly enough to endanger the house with the risk of demolition. If I didn't love him so much…

Emma gets out of the kitchen drying her hands in a cloth. "He's in a really bad mood, right?"

"Yes." I say, resting my head in my closed fists and closing my eyes. "Yet, he managed to make me the one responsible. Now that I think of it, I believe that his massage might have been his way of exerting revenge on me for not giving up to his wishes."

"Is your neck worse?" I hear her walking through the hallway and entering the guest bathroom. She returns with a bottle of aloe gel in her hands. "Tie your hair." She says. "Here." She holds me a rubber band. I don't think I fully understand what she's doing. "Do it!" She urges. So I do it.

Emma's fingers and fluid moves are nothing like Henry's. Emma's fingers and moves are barely there at first, the ghost of a touch leaving soft prints from my skull to my shoulders. Emma's fingers and moves seem to have an intelligence of their own that matches the pulses of my pain with a mysterious synchronicity. Emma's fingers and moves are getting swifter, deeper and I'm pretty sure I have just moaned. And I would be slightly embarrassed but something in Emma's fingers and moves has unlocked the tension accumulated in my neck and now it's flooding in words of anger and sadness and regret.

Because Robin should have taken the time to do this. Robin should have had the time to notice how bad this was. Robin should have been here having dinner with us in the first place, instead of running away once the sex (the heated, rushed sex) was over. But of course, he hasn't. Because no matter how many realms I transcend or how much I struggle with my despair and my pain or how hard I fight the temptation of surrendering to the overwhelming urge of hate and evil, I simply cannot have everything.

"Because he had to go back to his wife and son and play the happy family with them." I spit the word wife the way I used to when I talked about this with Emma, before. But now, unlike before, she's silent. And her fingers have stopped moving and I don't want them to be frozen over my skin like the claws of a panther, but I ruined it, like I ruined the mayonnaise, because I polluted Emma with my unbalanced emotions and my frustration.

"Don't judge me."

"I'm not." Emma sits beside me and takes my hand in hers. I feel them wet with gel. And warm.

"He's is going to tell her. He will." I feel that it's very important that she understands.

"What is he going to tell her?"

"That he loves me. That we are true love." She needs to understand this isn't something dark or despicable or evil or former me. This is love. The same very matter she is made of. She has to see this for what this is. If she doesn't…

"You keep saying that. But how do you know, exactly?" She doesn't.

I open my mouth to retell the same story she has heard from me other times before, but she stops me.

"How is destiny an exact science? How is it that we have nothing to say on the matter?"

"Oh, I see. This is my fault. Yes, I can see why that'd be so convenient for you." She lets my hand go and leans back on her chair with a load sigh. We rest in silence for a while. I feel another kind of knot in my neck now, one that's preventing me to speak and bring her back. The look she gives me now is crushing all my hopes of her seeing, of her understanding. She's so disappointed and righteous and for sure is just thinking of me with condescendence…

She wakes up and goes to the wardrobe to retrieve her jacket. I immediately regret my last words. And thoughts, specially my last thoughts.

"Emma, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. You know I don't even think like that anymore. And you don't deserve to be talked this way." I stand up and try to apologize too for what she hasn't heard. I take my own coat and join her in the entrance door. "Would you mind if I walk with you for a while?"

* * *

><p>Our feet echo in the night. The park trail is damp and is shining black. Above, the lampposts drain their yellow light.<p>

"You know. About Henry and the dog thing." Some leaves are tangled in Emma's hair. "I could do it. I mean, I've been thinking about it for a while now."

The air smells of cold.

"Yes. Of course. You should do it." She'd definitely save time if she had a pet of her own, since she spends half of her free time walking all the stray dogs of the Storybrooke Animal Shelther. "What's holding you back?"

"I… er… I wouldn't like to make this whole I'm-the-cool-mom scenario…" A thick cloud comes out from her mouth. I know her nose is red even if I cannot see it in this light.

"But Emma." I say, pushing her gently on the shoulder. "You are the cool mom."

We have reached the wooden gazebo at the end of the trail. This is where we usually part ways.

"But don't think that your little beast would be allowed anywhere near me or my house." I warn her, pressing my index finger against her chest.

"What? I spend most of my evenings there. Where I'm supposed to live the poor thing?" It's as if she had swallowed Henry and our son was speaking and acting through her right now.

"Not in the house. You'll leave it outside." I cross my arms and turn around to take my way back home. She speaks again and I stand still.

"I'm glad you're ok with this. I just don't enjoy the idea of doing things against you anymore."

The wind sends a swirl of leaves our way.

"Good night, Emma."

"Good night, Regina."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Note about chapter 5**: In this story, Marian is a sentient, breathing, walking, speaking being, thankyouverymuch. If we're going to have a story about someone cheating on his wife, I find it much more interesting if said wife can actually play a part besides existing as an abstract and frozen concept. That said, I'm obviously not planning on having Robin around for much longer._

_**Note about this chapter**: The first part might be a little repetitive, but I just needed to write it. Also, this is for emmacharming2. Thank you for your kind suggestion. I'm very interested in mother-daughter relationships, so this was actually something that I was fond of exploring._

* * *

><p>It's ok. I'll be ok. Just breathe and walk and breathe. Oh, god, no. It's getting worse. I can't handle this. Ok, just breathe. The marble is cold and hard. My feet stomp in the linoleum. I'll sit in the sofa for a while. Oh, fuck, I'm shaking so much. And my throat is closing, my teeth are clenching. I can feel my jaw. I won't be able to stand up, I will just fall… Oh, no, don't start crying now. The sadness is so deep and so thick and it's here digging my chest and tensing my jaw. I'm terrified by the noises I'm making. I'm vomiting tears and saliva on my fist and it's bleeding 'cause I'm chewing on it.<p>

There's no more sadness. Only horror.

I'm so afraid. Here it's usually right. But now it isn't. I'm safe nowhere. If I walk outside, I'll feel the breeze and I will breathe. I'll be ok. But I won't. I'll cry for help and I'll be ok. But I won't. I won't, I won't, I won't! There's nowhere to be safe.

I'm choking and my head's collapsing. So, so dizzy. I reach the table for balance. I need to run. I need to get out of myself. I'll get to the bathroom and lie my head on the bathtub and I'll be balanced. I'm here. Ok, rest. Breathe. Now, what? It's not helping. Nothing will ever help me. I'm going down. I need to escape this. I can't escape this. The void will swallow me whole. I need it to be over. Please, please, please, be over. I need to find shelter. But the shelter is breaking, everywhere… There's nowhere to be safe.

The door. A noise at the door. Oh, God, they're here. They'll save me. No, no, no, please, don't let them see me this broken. I shake. I can't breathe.

"Emma?" She's coming over here. Stay away. She's at the door now, and she sees me. Please, come. "Emma!" This is the end. "What… What is it?" She holds my head. I just stare at her in horror. "Emma, baby, talk to me!" She'll panic too. I don't want to frighten her. I want to speak but words won't come out. So I just grab her sweater and press my face against it and cry, cry, cry. She tries to pull me backwards and I harden my grip on her. I'll ruin the fabric. I won't let her away.

"Mom…" She stops fighting and stays still. "Mom." Is that my voice? It's so low and… desperate. "I'm… I'm very afraid." I've said it. How will I ever come back from this?

Her hands are on my hair now, strong and deliberate and anchoring my head, and she's rocking me.

There's no going back.

* * *

><p>The light is dim, sort of orangish and fluid and it encapsulates the two of us while Mary Margaret's (my mother, my mother is here) light steps resonate in the room like a faint echo, each tiny noise of clothes being fold, of wardrobe doors being open and closed, bringing in an absurd amount of comfort.<p>

I am aware of the softness of the pillow hugging my chin and my nose, of the heaviness of the quilt pushing my body towards the mattress, of the lingering taste of chamomile in my tongue.

My mind is beaten but clear enough to remember something important. "And Henry? You were supposed to come here together."

Mary Margaret comes by my side and tucks me. It's weird how I don't feel one bit of embarrassment at the gesture. "He stayed in the school a little longer to work on his science project." She says. "He should be here anytime now."

"I don't want him to ..." I shoot my head upwards, but she places a gentle hand on it and pushes me back towards the pillow.

"Do you want me to text him to go directly to Regina's?" She offers. I just stare at her and she nods in understanding before getting up to pick up her phone.

"I… I've felt like this before." I begin, once she's back with me. "Well, not like this, like this. I mean, not so close to completely lose it."

"You were not losing it." Mary Margaret smiles beatifically, ever the hopeful hero. But she needs to know.

"I was. I was sinking in… madness. I was convinced I'd just… die. Of madness." I think my words may have made their point when a concerned look crosses her face. I worry I might have been too honest. Before she can work on her reaction any further, Avicii's _Hey Brother_ erupts from my nightstand. I reach for my phone. I pick up and manage to sound kind of balanced for Henry, I think, while I confirm that yes, I have a slight fever and need a rest but am otherwise sound. He offers to come by but I convince him to avoid my presence with the excuse of contagion.

I place the phone in the nightstand and roll on the bed to lie on my back. I fix my gaze on the ceiling while I resume my little tale of horrors. "For a few months, I've been having these weird feelings, where everything seemed empty and I couldn't do anything to make things have sense again." Apparently, I cannot stop myself from painting a truly disturbing picture of my insanity.

"Emma." Here it comes. "You're describing an anxiety crisis. You just had a panic attack. I'm sure it felt horrible, but you don't have to worry about it." She's smiling again and doesn't seem terrified at all. Ok, I guess I can deal with that.

I sigh heavily and close my eyes gathering some relief, but soon I'm startled by an idea. "What if it happens again?"

"You'll feel horrible and then it'll pass." She says, matter-of-factly.

"Ok…" Not what I wanted to hear. I just need her to assure me that I won't have to endure anything like this ever again. "But what if it doesn't?"

"Listen to me. It will always be over." A variation of the family motto, I guess. It's just not good enough for me to be willing to believe it.

"I just can't stand the thought of waking up." I feel like crying, a lot, and I bury my head on the pillow to suffocate my sobs. I'm pretty disgusted with myself right now.

"Then don't." What? I must have heard wrong, so I emerge from the wet and fluffy mess to look at Mary Margaret. I'm slightly offended by the fact that she still has a smile plastered on her face. "Emma, you are allowed to be broken. Let yourself feel broken, sweetheart." With that, the corner of her lips quiver a little. "You have people that will help you pick the pieces, and that will do so very, very gladly." There's some water filling her eyelashes now while she caresses my face intently.

Suddenly, I notice the absence of the other infant of our lives. "Where's Baby Neal?" It's funny how I have to keep using an apposition to avoid the ideas of my brother and the father of my son colliding.

Mary Margaret doesn't stop caressing me when she answers. "He has a father."

"I know that. I just wasn't sure you did." I mutter, and turn to my side closing my eyes. My mother's hands are still on me when a blissful fogginess starts to cloud my senses.

* * *

><p>Very well. Let's deal with this properly. My yoga is a little bit rusty but it sure seems appropriate to work on this anxiety thing. First, Sukhasana. Breathe in, breathe out. Hands to the chest. Breathe in, breath out. Head down. Breathe in, breath out. Hands back on the tights. Breathe in, breath…<p>

Doorbell.

I freeze and consider just ignoring that. Mary Margaret has keys and shouldn't be back in a while, anyway. Curiosity wins me over, so I tiptoe towards the entrance and spy through the peephole. I open the door immediately afterwards.

Regina stands there, framed by the fragile glow of the hallway, holding what looks like a heavy bag. My hands rush to soothe my hair before I have time to think about greeting.

"It's nice to see you too, dear." Of course she'd be one to greet with a scolding.

"Sorry." I step backwards and gesture for her to come in.

"Henry told me you were sick, so I thought I could pay a visit and verify you were taking the appropriate precautions to make a rapid recovery." I don't even bother to roll my eyes at her. "I brought you some soup." She adds, placing the bag on the kitchen counter and taking out of it the biggest tupperware I've seen in my life.

"Great!" I sound too eager even to my own ears. I'm still shaky, and I'm sure my eyes betray me and counter-effect my attempt to appear sparkly, anyway.

"How are you feeling?" She narrows her eyes as if exerting some kind of telepathy on me.

"I'm fine. In fact, I…" I fall silent when she covers my forehead with her hand. It's cold from the outside and it sends a chill through my spine.

"Your fever is gone." She declares. I'm quite surprised that she senses that, 'cause I'm feeling pretty heat-struck at the moment.

"Uh… yeah. I told you I was better." That short sentence has left me breathless so I inhale deeply. And then shiver some more.

I reach to the counter for balance and Regina sweeps the place with her eyes. "Has your mother left you alone?" Her tone is definitely menacing and I take an involuntary step backwards.

"No." I answer. "She's just gone to her apartment to feed the baby and take some clothes. She's spending the night here."

She presses her lips and mutters something that sounds like "she better…" before pointing at the rubber mat on the floor. "Were you camping in your own living room?"

"Er… nope. That's for yoga." The hang melody playing quite noticeably at the stereo should have given her a hint, honestly.

She looks at me and stays silent. But of course she knows.

"Would you mind… if I keep you company until Snow is back?" She's already unbuttoning her coat, so I guess she's not expecting me to answer. "Also, Henry requested that I bring you the episodes of that clones show you two are so fond of." She handles me a pendrive.

"Great!" I repeat. Though, I think this time I sound as thrilled as I feel.

Regina walks towards the living room and sits on the sofa with the composure of the queen she will always be. "You can play that now, if you want to." She says, pointing at my laptop.

"Sure?" I don't want to appear as rude, but the idea of watching Orphan Black with Regina sounds really appalling and holds the promise of keeping my mind away from the shadows that have been clouding it today.

"Of course." She smirks. "It will spare me from having to entertain you with silly chit chat."

* * *

><p>The room flickers in the light that comes out of the screen. Helena is waving a severed tail in a hypnotic dance and I'm tilting my head to the side until it rest directly on Regina's shoulder.<p>

If this is what surrender brings with it, it may not be as bad as I thought.


End file.
